To Adjust
by Vigors
Summary: Their struggle has come to an end, leaving them behind to pick up the broken bits and pieces of the people they once were before the Reaper War; adjusting slowly to the world around them and the people they had become.


It was all haze, all the little bits and details were scrambled and he didn't know what was true and what was manufactured in his mind. The pain that radiated and stung with every breath soon ceased to a small drum as he lost himself to his dreams, to his nightmares.

He was lost in the woods once more, surrounded in a dark haze and oily shadows hearing voices he couldn't quite make out, hearing the small giggles of a child when the Catalyst, the Star Child, ran off ahead him and for lack of better judgment, Shepard pursued him once more. The closer he seemed to get the faster the boy got, much to the commander's frustration.

It was constant, no matter how hard he tried it didn't matter how much he ran he never seemed to keep up, the whispering was constant but he noted that it slowly increased its pitch and he had to strain to ignore it. The shadows seemed to creep closer to him, attaching to his arms and legs weighing him down and increasing his exhaustion, but the more it overcame him the closer he got to the child, so he welcomed it, learned to adjust to the cold that slithered up his spine.

Finally after what felt like an eternity, Shepard caught up to the Star Child, looming over the small illuminated figure, Shepard extended his arm towards it, unsure if he wanted to help or strangle the boy when he finally got his hands on him. Reaching for the back of the boy's neck, Shepard could feel the boy's warmth radiating out onto his fingers, anger and memories rushing into his mind.

London. The Reapers. Harbinger's attack. The Normandy…Liara.

Blinking back tears the Commander grit his teeth, the rush information clouding his vision, anger controlling his actions when he watched the boy turn towards him with a puzzled expression. The citadel, the crucible, his choice... His hands found their way around the boy's neck in an instant a small surge of satisfaction surging through his veins as he watched the Star Chi-, no the Catalyst, the Reaper struggle under his grasp.

The world seemed to clear around him, the whispering ceased and the shadows that clung to him slowly dispersed, his mind seemed to clear, and he finally knew why he wept. He cried for the life the Reapers took from him, the little blue children he would never have, for the friends he would never see, and the lover he left behind. If killing the child in this small purgatory of his could give him some sort of relief, a small win, he would take it; he would murder this child in cold blood with his bare hands.

Shepard's cool grey eyes had never been so focused, his grip so tight, white knuckles, thumbs brushing over the boys wind pipe and squeezing, feeling the weak struggle under his hold. He was a trained and professional killer, but nothing had felt so personal to Shepard before, nothing would feel as satisfying, better than taking down Kai Leng and avenging Thane.

Feeling the fight leave the Catalyst, some sort of sick satisfaction came through him that this nightmare would end, that he no longer had felt compelled to chase the figure that had brought him so much pain, so many sleepless nights, the figure that represented the beings that brought pain across the galaxy.

Shock compelled him to drop the Catalyst, the strong hold on his hand that stopped him from ending it all to lose his mind to the blood rage. The drell that stood before him only shook his head giving the startled human a sympathetic smile.

The world seemed to clear around him, but his last battle the scramble to the Citadel was still a haze of scattered memories and unanswered questions. His surroundings that were only dark with oily shadows soon gained color, his mood changing and memories changing the area around them. He no longer felt regret, no longer found it hard to breath, the pain that had drummed through his bones finally ceased, and most importantly he never saw that Catalyst again.

Pausing mid-stride Shepard shut his eyes, feeling the cool autumn breeze caress his features enjoying the way it rustled and messed up his brown hair, making him comb it back to its place with his calloused fingers. "This was always my favorite season on earth, I would spend hours in this park as a child. The Red's avoided this area since it was near an Alliance base, it was safe."

"I wish I could've seen it. When I visited earth you were still incarcerated, New Mexico was beautiful, hot and arid, I believe it was summer." Thane replied.

Shepard only smiled, although he no longer felt lost in his own mind, he didn't feel a peace, the world around him felt so perfect, but it didn't feel right. Although he welcomed and enjoyed Thane's presence in this small purgatory of his, but he was also troubled he knew of the drell's fate, remembered holding a memorial service for his friend, the question drummed in his mind, making his heart squeeze painfully and his stomach flop. "Thane, am I…- "

Suddenly the atmosphere around them changed, a sudden rushed of exhaustion and weakness rushed over his body, making him collapse on his knees, the beautiful surrounding that they had resided in disappeared leaving the two in a room of white, a small beep constantly repeating somewhere around them. Confusion once more, where were they now?

The rooms details slowly materialized in front of him, a figure lay in a bed motionless, IV's and other devices attached to several different parts of his body, flowers and gifts were set in different areas of the room, dog tags in a decorative case were set besides his mattress, the man was a soldier, that much Shepard could tell. To his surprise he watched the drell walk towards the unconscious man, ducking his head and mouthing a silent prayer before brushing his hand over the man's hair.

Mild curiosity made him step closer, horror caused him to stumble back. The stubble, the hair, the thick eyebrows, how could he have been such a fool? "How long have I been like this?" Shepard asked walking towards himself, his hand resting on his cold arm. Truly, an out of body experience.

"Months, four I believe."

He was skinnier and paler then the man he used to be, brushing his fingers over himself he examined the band around his wrist: John Shepard. Glancing out the hospital window, he couldn't make out a thing about where he was except that it was dark, the late hours of the night.

"My prayers have been answered Shepard, Kalahira kept you safe, but today you make a choice." Thane spoke ignoring the small creak of a door being opened, ignoring the hospital staff member enter with a small silver tray, only a syringe lying on its surface.

"What the hell is going on?" Shepard asked, watching the nurse set the tray down and grabbing the syringe and set the needle reaching into their pocket and grabbing a small vial and filling the device, a wash of unease filling the room.

"Be at peace with yourself, take the shot and have everything end, no more confusion, no more pain, be at peace with the man you were." Thane's voice warped and changed, Shepard could no longer distinguish the drell hearing a small maniacal chuckle echo in the room. "Or wake up to a world of pain, restlessness, constant worry, paranoia, be a different person then the man you once were."

Lifting his gaze to where Thane had once stood and finding that the drell had disappeared, Shepard was left to watch the doctor shift his attention towards the Spectre. One final choice die now and join those he couldn't save, all the knowledge of himself and his actions available to him when he pleased or live to a world of uncertainty, unsure of what the future will bring or if he could still be the John Shepard the galaxy had looked up to.

His choice was obvious, even though at the moment the danger that presented itself caused him falter momentarily. On a table not so far from his hospital bed sat a vase with the finest Thessian flowers he had ever seen, a picture of an unforgettable night in the Citadel, model ships, and a shy little space hamster.

He had a future, people were waiting for him, he had a home, and he had a lover's arms to return to. The orphan kid from earth's roughest cities who had taken a stand on Elysium, saved the Citadel, and saved the galaxy did have a family to return too. His future was filed with uncertainties, but it was a life worth living…

A sudden rush of air racked the man's lungs making him grimace in pain unused to that much oxygen rushing into him and making his chest heave while his heart pounded rapidly like a drum, blinking in the darkness his eyes adjusted to the dark as information flooded his mind. London, the battle he had last seen, the burns that had once marred his skin and the bullets the pierced his flesh. Feeling the adrenaline rush through his veins confusion rushed through the commander's mind. Where was he?

His mind was still in the war when his mind met the eyes of his assailant, with a needle poised towards the commander, shooting his arm forward Shepard quickly grabbed the doctor's arm, adrenaline giving him strength and shattering the assassin's bones, watching the needle fall out his hands with a small thud onto the tile below. Letting go and letting the attacker collapse onto the floor as his screams shattered the silence that surrounded the room.

Attempting to get out of the bed, John was stopped by the tubes attached to his body and with a growl of anger he ripped the IV's off of him, collapsing when his feet touched the cold floor below him. Glancing around the dark room, Shepard used an arm to drag himself towards the assassin before his eyes caught the small glint of the needle. Anger drove him to reach for it and anger drove him to plunge it into the man's flesh, injecting him with whatever was about to be used on him. He watched the man shuddered in front him, watched his body convulse, his eyes roll back, his mouth starting foam while his legs kicked wildly.

The only sound in the room was his breathing, heavy and labored as he attempted to collect his thoughts. Lifting his hand to his face, he remarked that his fingers were softer then he remembered when they brushed passed his face feeling the stubble on his face then the hair that hadn't been trimmed for what could've been days. Puzzled at finding that he had a pair of dog tags tightly clenched in his other hand, squinting and running his fingers over the engraving he could see the familiar N7 markings but the name on them caught him by surprise: David Anderson.

'What the hell?' He thought to himself, searching his memories for anything, anything that would explain the dog tags in his hand. Flinching slightly, he felt a sharp pang of pain in his skull, small flashes of memory flashing into his eyes, his arm lifting, his gun aimed at Anderson, the recoil of the gun as he fired a shot, but then his eyes lifted to watch the war on Earth, his abdomen pulsing with a wound he didn't have before, a wound that should've been on Anderson.

He was knocked out of his thoughts when he heard calls and rushed footsteps out of the room. He had to move, he had to go. Reaching for his mattress, he pulled himself onto his feet and threw himself to a wall to balance his weight and stumble forward, his legs barely able to maintain his weight and carry him forward like they once could. His plan for a retreat was completely out of the picture when the lights in his room where suddenly turned on the lights blinding him momentarily, hearing a gasp of surprise from further out into the room.

"Shepard..!" That voice, glancing up he felt a flood of relief wash over him, she was alive and aiming a gun at him. Puzzled, his eyes searched her own, she was fine but… dropping the dog tags his hands lifted to clutch his skull when another flood of information rushed him. The Mako that came crashing on top of them, the call to the Normandy, Garrus with a mangled leg, Liara wounded and bleeding after shrapnel hit her, watching them get flown off to safety.

Feeling himself sink onto the floor his hands began to shake, his skull throbbed more information flooded him. Rushing to the beam, but then his memories became convoluted. Stumbling in the Citadel but also being dragged off to safety. Anderson saying his farewell slipping the tags off setting them in John's hand but in another memory removing the tags himself and clutching them tightly. What was real?

Feeling a sudden warmth envelope him, he opened his eyes to find her pulling him into her chest, her fingers tenderly running through his, trying to calm the crazed soldier, ignoring the corpse the lay a just a foot away. His arms found their way around her and he knew he everything would be fine, that he was where he belonged, he was finally home and it didn't matter if he wasn't all there anymore.

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><p><strong><em>I'm hoping to turn this into a series of one shots that revolve around the same idea, Shepard dealing with himself after the war and how it altered himself physically and mentally along with how the Normandy crew themselves are adjusting to their new lives. Tell me what you think?<em>**


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